


If we shadows have offended...

by Mehehilill



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Emissary in Training Stiles Stilinski, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Monster of the Week, Multi, Nobody is Dead, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sleep Deprivation, Tags Are Hard, eventual graphic contents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-06-19 07:38:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15505554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mehehilill/pseuds/Mehehilill
Summary: Stiles has a rough three days. He feels a little like Sandra Bullock on that damned bus, breaks out of services, his foot stuck to the accelerator if he wants to survive. But there's someone messing with the magic of the supernaturals creatures and it so happens that 90% of the people he knows are supernatural. Him included. Now that's just his luck, isn't it?





	1. If love be blind, it best agrees with night...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a WIP, that I will hopefully update every week or so.  
> Comments and advices are welcomed.  
> No beta, so all the mistakes are mine.

The window opens in the semi-dark room with barely a sound. A figure comes through the gape with swift, agile movements, and makes its way to the table in the far corner. There’s a moment of stillness where the figure seemingly hesitates - hovering over the boy, sprawled on the desk without grace - and dwell on its intents. With a confident nod the figure makes up his mind and reaches out with his hand to wake the boy from his slumber. First, nothing happens. Then the boy shrieks.

 

-“No, no, no, no. Stiles, it ok, it’s me! Ssshh.”

 

The figure hurries to sooth.

 

-“Fuck Scottie! What- _everthehell_ are you doing here?”

 

Stiles whispers angrily, a hand on his pounding heart, the other one gripping his faithful bat under the table.

 

-“Why do you sleep with your bat in hand?”

 

Scott marvels, eyes going round and taking a little step back.

 

-“Because there are magical creatures, especially werewolves, entering my room at every and any hour of the night! And I swear to God, one day I’m gonna beat the crap out of one of them for not using the fucking door!”

 

He clarifies. Scott grimace, mumbling some excuses. Stiles has a point.

 

-“Sorry, sorry. It’s just I really need_ wait, how _many_ werewolves come in here at night?”

 

Scott inquires. The tone is indignant, but there is no tension in his stance as he leans over to free his friend from a sheet of paper stubbornly plastered to his cheek. The ink of the notes has transferred a little on the skin.

 

-“Wipe that surprise off your face.”

 

Stiles spites, ironically wiping his face from, well, from drool, to then clean his hand on his shirt... What? Teenage boys are gross, ok?

 

–“I’m the packs counselor and to be Emissary, _all_ come to me when something’s wrong.”

 

-"But_but, I’m the Alpha?”

Said Alpha sputters. Somehow it came out as a question. Or maybe it was meant to be, if the lost look on Scoot's face is anything to go by. Stiles would take pity on him, but for the fact that it's– he glances at the laptop clock and groans – four o’clock in the stupid morning, after a very long night passed editing his entrance essay to the FBI Academy College from all the unnecessary tangents it had taken him to. It's supposed to be no more than 100k words, but his original draft counted more than 300k. Last time he checked, he had managed to dwindle it down to 200k, just before collapsing at three in the goddamn morning!

He has slept for a **Single.** **Fucking.** **Hour.** Scott can shove his hurt feelings up his fury werewolf_

 

-“Why don’t they come to me?”

 

Scott, _his best friend,_  mumbles,  eyes down at his feet and looking for all the world like a deserted, dejected puppy. Stiles heaves a sigh of patience and softens his stance.

 

–“Oh, don’t be so upset. Erica’s idea of cuddling for comfort is strangling you in a mortal hold throughout the night.”

 

He assures, turning on his office chair to look back at the opened file on the laptop, dutifully saving it for the hundredth time. And uploading a copy to his drive. Never safe enough.

Scott’s still lost in his Alpha troubled thoughts, and Stiles ignores him in favor of dragging his wary body to the bed, where he face plants happily.

The bat, still held tight in his hand, gets stuck under him and pushes painfully on his groin. Ouch... He turns around just in time to see Scott drop on the office chair with a hunted look.

 

-“Oh, come on Scottie, it’s not that big of a dial! They mostly come to harass me about the latest gossip –the girls- or to play with my PS4 – the boys- or to brood enigmatically -”

 

-“No, not- it’s not that, I’m happy they feel comfortable relaying on you, it just…it’s just I need your, hem, counseling too.”

 

Scott assures, pushing the words out in little, reluctant, puffs by the end.

Stiles really looks at him then. He’s been able to read Scott long before he started training for Emissary, though, to be honest, anyone with eyes could probably do that. Scott has the terrible habit to wear his emotion in plain sight.

So it’s no wonder Stiles needs a brief glance to take in the way Scott's ears have gone red, his hands fidgeting on the armrests of the chair, his legs crossed over each other in a very out of character position, and he KNOWS what his best friend needs counseling for.

 

-“Oh.”

 

He says brilliantly. Well fuck, it’s not like it’s the first time they talk about this, in general terms, but it’s the first time they share to this point.  _Advice each-other_.

 

–“And in what, hum, area of competence do you, hum, need my counseling?”

 

He asks, aiming for tactful, but probably missing by a mile judging from Scott’s new, tomato-red skin tone .

 

-“I’m sorry. I know_ I shouldn_“

 

-“Scottie, shut up.”

 

Stiles is quick to interrupt him.

 

–“ You have nothing to apologize for. Even if I wasn’t your emissary in training, I’m still your best friend, and you can ask me anything. I mean it, any fleeting thought that crosses your mind, just speak it out. I sure as hell do that all the time, and you might have guessed I have no shame or fret to touch embarrassing topics.”

Scott snorts at that, and seams to relax a little.

 

–“Right.”

Stiles offers him a little smile, and Scott reciprocates before taking a deep breath.

 

–“Well, you know how me and Allisson are not exactly back together but…have a thing going on.”

He starts saying...

 

-“I’m aware, yes” Stiles confirms

 

-“Yea and we, kind of happened to a party where, um, there was a lot of alcohol, lots and lots of it.”

 

Scott emphasizes with his hands, flailing much like Stiles usually did.

 

 _*Alcohol which you can’t get drunk from*   _Stiles thinks, refrains from voicing out load.

 

-“And there was this…third person…that we met there, and…spent the night with.”

 

Scott continues, looking more and more squimish by the second. Stiles purses his lips to avoid laughing at his best friend, or maybe screaming to get it the fuck over with, and spit it out so he can get some blessed sleep before school! He’s not sure which. But he’s a good friend so all he does is nod and wait for him to clarify.

Scott is never the one to grasp things easily tough, so he just stays there, staring. Stiles groans, quickly masking it by clearing his throat, and asks:

 

-“ And? I’m not sure I see the problem in that. Personally I had pretty much fun when it happened with Malia and Sky.”

 

It's Scott’s time to nod know.

 

-“No, that’s not the problem, the problem is this…third person, is a werewolf, while Allison…well I can’t believe it could be Allison’s fault, but know I have this-“

 

Scott gestures to his crotch and possibly takes on a deeper shade of red.

 

-“Oh for God’s sake, just spit it out!”

 

Stiles snaps in the end.

 

-“I have a rash!”

 

Scott yells back.

 

–“Right on the area, it’s all red and it ,hum , itches.”

 

He concludes, looking Stiles in the eyes.

 

-“Oh.”

 

Is all that comes out of Stiles mouth.

 

-“Yeah, I know. And I can’t bare the thought it was Allison that passed it on to me, but I’m clean, and the other person was a Were too so – so it must have been her, and that means she…”

 

Scott comes to a wavering halt and Stiles can see the moisture in his eyes.

 

-“…she must have been with someone else, without protection. Stiles, I...how can I deal with this?”

 

He finishes, exhaling a long, sad breath.

Stiles wants to strangle him.

 

-“Let me get this clear, dude.”

 

He asks, leaving the bat on the bed, for fear of using it, and sauntering over to his very naïve Alpha.

 

-“You had a ménage a trois with Allison and a not better identified werewolf.”

 

He states. Scott nods.

 

–“And as you said yourself, the werewolf can’t be the source of the contagium because of the supernatural healing…”

 

He trails off, hoping Scott will get the point now. No such luck. Scott nods with his face scrunched in confusion, obviously sensing something but not quite getting it yet.

Stiles prays the Gods for patience.

 

–“…and it didn’t occur to you for a single second, that it was just as strange for you, True Alpha werewolf, to show the sign of an STD, that you’re supposed to be immune to!?”

 

He yells, sleep forgotten and flailing in motion. Scott’s eyes widen in comprehension. FINALLY.

 

-“Oh my God.”

 

He barks out. He jumps out of the chair with shaky legs, and Stiles gets up with him, finding his wallet and shoes while his Alpha freaks out.

 

–“Oh _my God,_ you’re right! I’m a werewolf, I was thinking I just had to wait it out and it would heal! But the point is I _ I should not have been affected by it in the first place!”

 

Stiles is pulling him down the stairs by then, grumbling about Scott’s lack of fisiology notions, especially for a vet wannabe.

His shocked friend comes to himself enough to ask him where they‘re going only once Stiles seats him in the car.

 

–“We’re going to Deaton, and then I suspect we’ll need to ride to the first town over, to a pharmacy where no one knows us and we can get you a med without our parents knowing.”

 

Scott pales considerably at the reminder of his mother. Suddenly he’s flailing in a very Stiles' manner again.

 

-“Wait. Wait, YOU are my Emissary, or you will be. Can’t _you_ help me without need for Deaton?”

 

He asks very seriously. Stiles scrunches his face and soothes it back down in a heartbeat. Scott sees Deaton as a mentor, not quite the father figure he had sought forever in his life, and only partially found in the sheriff, but close. It’s only natural for the young Alpha not to want to involve Deaton in this mess.

 

Still. Scottie is not thinking things through again. Stiles rolls his eyes at the sky, promptly adjusting the trajectory when the jeep swerves from the gesture. Better keep his eyes trained on the street.

 

-“First of all, I’m still training, and I have never heard of werewolf STD before. It could take me ages to understand what this is, or how it manages to affect you, leaving you exposed to it’s doing in the meanwhile.”

 

He feels Scott scrutiny on the side of his face. In the corner of his vision his friend’s hand twitches on the hood of the car, where he’s bracing for life at Stiles driving skills, ( so melodramatic, it’s not like he would hurt himself that much if they ever had an accident, that they never had 'till now so…) and he figures he hasn't been convincing enough. That's not a problem, he has to that the major point to the list yet.

 

-“ And **second** Scott, Scottie, my dear best friend, _do you really_ want me to examine your junk _thoroughly_ if it’s not absolutely necessary?”

 

He questions in a serious voice, no sarcasm whatsoever. The silence that follows is proof he has made his point.

 

-“I thought so.”

 

He comments dryly. They stay quiet then, the ride still about 20 minutes long.

 

-“So if this thing is, hm, supernatural induced…”

 

Scot mumbles after a little, his tone hopeful.

 

–“… do you think Allison didn’t cheat on me?”

 

Stiles groans.

 

–“We will discuss your absolute lack of prioritizing skills on the way back home…True Alpha.”

 

He might have put a little too sarcastic venom in the last words. Scott gapes at him, but then sobers and sits a little straighter.

Stiles is unrepentant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think? This chapters is a little slow, but I promise It gets better
> 
> Title from "Romeo and Juliet", by Shakespear.


	2. The Emissary's center.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POSSIBLY TRIGGERING! there is an episode on epilepsy in this chapter.

The whole of the ordeal takes more time than Stiles had anticipated.

When they’re finally hitting the road again there’s light rising slowly on the horizon. They still have a good hour ‘till a proper sunset will light the street, since they’re in the middle of march, but that doesn’t mean School will start any later.

Stiles drives a little faster, wants to crash in his bed for the spare hour they’ll have before the day starts all over again.

 

-“Oh, shit! Shit, I forgot to do all our homework for today. Dude my mom will kill me if I get my grades down again! Shit!”

 

Scott sudden outburst echos in the car.

 

-“Wait, you mean you didn’t even study for Harris’ test?”

 

Stiles asks, the groan slipping from Scott’s pursed lips is answer enough.

 

-“Just kill me now, Stiles. This is such a mess.”

 

He whines, his head dropping in his hands.

 

–“And this thing doesn’t stop itching!”

 

He adds with an explicative wriggle on his seat. Stiles stifles a laugh.

 

-“Stop grumbling, that’s what you deserve for getting naughty on unhygienic floors.”

 

-“It was a pool! And I shouldn’t even worry about bacteria like that!”

 

Scott grumbles. Again.

 

-“Yeah, a dirty public pool, so there’s that. And so much for a thoughtful not-quite-boyfriend you are, now I can see why Allison says you’re so protective.”

 

Stiles chastises. His friend sags on himself, clearly feeling like an idiot.

 

-“I hate how you became this wise fucking asshole since you started training.”

 

It’s mumbled from somewhere behind Scott’s hands, but not quiet silent enough.

 

-“I heard that.”

 

-“You were meant to! I can’t deal with your Jedi side showing so much all the time. I want my friend back, Yoda, the one that always has my back even for stupid shit!”

 

Scott rants. Stiles wants to lash out to those accusation, he has spent driving his werewolf ass back and forth since four in the morning to cover his friend's back! Talk about ungratefulness.

Scott has just compared him to Yoda tough…(he new all those hours forcing him to see Star Wars were not totally lost on Scott). Stiles takes a fortifying breath.

 

-“Guess what then; I’ll copy out all the written homework in your awful handwriting from mine. This way you can go home, apply the med cream on that hideous STD and have enough time to study something for Harris’ test. How does that sound?”

 

He offers. There’s no need for werewolf senses to hear the relieved huff Scott gives.

 

-“Oh yes, please, you’re saving my life man. Thank you sooo much.”

 

Stiles nods in acknowledgment. _Welcome, sleep deprivation. Again._

 

–“No problem man, just promise me you’ll stay safe until we know more of this waver in the force you’re experiencing.”

 

He assures, grinning. Scott chukels with him, squeezing his shoulder.

 

-“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be a good Padawan, don’t worry.”

 

That makes them both burst out lughning, a little of the teens in them back for this secluded moment in time. When the laughs die out, Scott turns up the radio (Stiles promptly punching it to make it work at all) and the conversation dies out for the rest of the ride.

 

  
*

 

  
Scott jumps out of the jeep with a wave. Stiles hold a hand up with a smile before quietly rolling away. As soon as he turns the corner, he lets his smile drop and the thoughts start swirling in his head in apparent chaos.

Since Stiles started training with Deaton not six months ago, he has learned how to keep a grip on his ADHD most of the time. It turns out dealing with his overactive brain is not so different from learning to wield magic. Sure, he had burned and crashed more than a couple of things in the first months, (to the amusement and agony of the Pack members) but once he got the gist of it, well, he was a fast learner. Deaton had called him a natural, went out of his way to give him a magical leather bracelet to “Cover the shine of your spark” as he put it. Who knew the old man was into teenage boys. Though Stiles should have guessed from his interactions with Scott. Ew.

Bullshit aside, he could handle himself enough these days, especially when the other Pack-mates were around. However, alone to himself…

He parks on the drive way thanking his lucky star his Dad has a long shift, and stumbles into the front door before he manages to open it all the way. The stairs are gone three at a time, and he’s in his room collecting all he needs for the day. Just as quickly he’s already jumping back in the jeep, phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder.

 

-“Come on. Come on, answer!” He hisses to the connecting line.

 

-“Let me guess? Derek got kidnaped.” A sleepy voice cracks through the line.

 

-“No. Code Browly.”

 

He huffs back, his breath labored and his head swimming. Fortunately, the road to school is carved in his brain so deeply he could easily travel it blind. There’s a shuffling sound from the mic, every second ticking by grating on Stiles’ fragile nerves.

 

-“Close your eyes Stiles.”

 

Comes Lydia’s imperative command.

 

-“I’m-I’m driving.”

 

He informs her between heavy breaths. Let’s be honest, he better not try that blindness thing with his luck (and clumsiness).

 

-“Figures. It’s ok Stiles. Leave your eyes on the street but focus on my voice.”

 

She adjusts quickly. Stiles can only pant in response, but she doesn’t seem to expect any answer, because she keeps on talking.

 

-“I can hear you hyperventilating Stiles. Count with me. You know how; start with deep breath through your nose, hold ‘till 3 and then out through your mouth. Do it with me Stiles, come on. Breathe in. Hold. 1, 2, 3. Out. Again. Breathe in…”

 

She repeats the pattern until Stiles is clam enough to repeat it with her.

 

-“You’re doing good _mysliwiec_. How’s your magic?” Lydia inquires.

 

The corner of Stiles' mouth turns up a bit at the comforting nickname. It is a game between them since they started learning languages together, polish one of them. They would choose a nickname for the other in a different language and see if the other understands.

 

-“Fighter. You flatter me…My magic is still…unraveled.”

 

He talks slowly, through the exertion of keeping at bay the flare of magic he feels on the tips of his fingers.

 

-“Ok. Where are you now?” She asks.

 

-“In the school’s parking lot.”

 

Stiles takes an isolated spot near the edge of the forest, and turns off the engine.

 

-“Good, then close your eyes this time. What do we do when our magic is rebellious?”

 

Lydia is almost whispering now, but the tone of command hasn’t faded from her voice. Stiles can hear the tinkle of a spoon in the background, twirling in a cup. Of tea, if he knows Lydia. And he does, she has become his most precious confidant lately.

 

“We center ourselves, _bhanrigh_.” He says.

 

Lydia’s smile is palpable. She enjoys being called Queen in whatever language comes up.

 

-“Damn right. Now, what is your center Stiles, what pushes out every fear or doubt?”

 

-“Protecting the people I love.”

 

Stiles barks back before she’s even finished the sentence.

 

Magic surges in him at the thought, a whirlwind of white power ready to shield or to offend at the sight of danger. The wood behind him thrums in acknowledgment, reaches out to make his own presence known to him. It’s still dizzying to feel the life of nature talking to him in this non verbal, telepathic-feeling way.

 

-“Stiles.”

 

Lydia’s voice demands, taking him back from the trance he was falling into.

 

–“Emissary Stiles. What’s your anchor?”

 

She asks again, louder. Stiles straitens on the passenger seat.

 

-“Love.”

 

The word is quiet but steady, strong in its meaning. As soon as it leaves Stiles lips his magic reins in, concentrates in a spot right behind his heart. It’s tamed and submissive at Stiles' incorporeal touch, purring for his command.

At his will, Roscoe fills with a breeze that smells of lavender and sunshine. Stiles takes a deep breath.

 

-“You’re welcome.”

 

Lydia whispers in his ear, perceiving his comfort like the good Sensitive/Banshee she is.

 

–“Now tell me what happens.”

 

-“Well…”

 

Stiles starts, putting his phone on speaker and settling to start copying his homework for Scott.

 

-“Our dear Alpha barged through my window last night_”

 

-“Who doesn’t?”

 

Lydia comments.He ignores her.

 

-“_talking about the scandalous perspective that his not-girlfriend could have cheated on him, sporting as proof - and brace for this, like, seat down- none other than a very ugly STD rash!”

 

He rambles all in one go.

 

-“So you’re saying you’ve looked at Scott’s dick intentionally.”

 

Lydia very unhelpfully summarizes.

 

-“Agh! O serpent heart hid in a flowering face!... Just, please, don’t ever say that again. ” He begs.

 

The sound of Lydia’s laughter fills the line.

 

-“So what was it in the end?”

 

-“Deaton says the rash is nothing serious, not really an STD either, just a mycosis for doing it in a dirty place. We got a cream and it should go down in a couple days. However this leaves us with the important question of_ ”

 

-“ _How did he get contaminated in the first place.”

 

Lydia finishes for him. There is a pause where the only thing that can be heard is the scrape of Stiles’ pen and Lydia’s gentle sipping.

 

-“You know…Jakson had some bizzarre human episodes these days. Danny told me.” She supplies thoughtfully.

 

-“Jak-ass hu? So you think we have something messing with werewolf power? By the way, 10 points to Ranvenclaw for being friends with your ex boyfriend’s current boyfriend.”

 

Stiles teases.

 

-“Hold your tongue before it get’s tangled, _sonyeon_ yua. I suppose we’ll have to meet &research tonight.”

 

Ah, shit, he doesn’t know this one. Should be Korean, but he can’t recognize the specific dialect.

 

-“As ever.”

 

He says instead, nonchalant. Lydia probably isn’t fooled by it, but doesn’t call him out either.

 

-“Great, then I’ll go give Allison a talk about the importance of always laying something on the floor before indulging in SAFE SEX. I’ll see you tonight.”

 

-“Words of wisdom. Don’t you have your Google internship interview?” He asks on an afterthought.

 

-“Oh, please, that will take a couple hours at most.”

 

She scoffs back; almost offended by the idea that getting in a tech, elite, international, multi-billionaire organization would take more than a mail and a two hour interview.

Stiles shrugs to himself and relents. Lydia WAS a mathematics genius.

 

-“True, then see you tonight, _tugh mI’._ ”

 

-“ Wait, wat language is th_”

 

He closes the call in the middle of her bickering. He’ll give her time to stew, find out what language the nickname is from, and _then_ he’ll submit to her wrath for playing dirty.

 

  
*

 

  
Minutes pass and Stiles finishes his amanuensis work of copy. He tucks everything back in his bag and sags happily on the seat. His eyelids slid close. Maybe he can sleep a little before the parking lot starts buzzing with students. He peers through his eyelids at the side window to search for the rising sun. Tugging the phone back from his bag would be too strenuous, he’ll judge the hour by the state of the sky.

The sun is there as he expects, glinting just above the woods on his left. It’s not quite enough to light the parking lot yet, but it’s enough for Stiles to notice the car parked right against the tree line. Not just any car. Nope. _That_ , is Derek’s **Camaro** , and for the love of magic, the glasses are completely fogged, the whole thing shaking violently!

HOW THE HELL did he miss it before? Fine, he was on the brink of a panic attack but_BUT! Stiles sputters out loud in his surprise, slaps his mouth shut.

The distance is such Derek could easily hear him even in the middle of_even _otherwise preoccupied_. NO! No, he is not thinking about that now, he doesn’t need to picture the Sourwolf like that. Not more than he already does in his free time anyho_Fuck, NO! …

Derek should have heard him when he was on the phone, though. But if he had, why didn’t he drive off stealthily in the sunrise? Or text him to get the fuck out of the place? Maybe Stiles is wrong about this, maybe he’s just imagining things.

A thud makes him look back at the Camaro and_

**_*IS THAT A HAND!?*_ **

And it is. It’s a very feminine hand leaving its imprint on the foggy glass! Stiles is not wrong, this is very unmistakable. He gapes at the Camaro, horror, arousal and something els he’s not ready to acknowledge bubbling in his heart.

He’s about to turn the engine on and speed out of the situation when some shouts come from the Camaro, laud enough he can hear it with human ears. Strange enough, they seem more panicked then pleasured. Also, the voice is familiar, but Stiles can’t reconcile it with Derek’s.

He looks transfixed at the car, worry clutching him on instinct. Come on, it wouldn’t be the first time Derek gets in danger by bedding a women. Stiles should maybe suggest him to try with a man, but it feels a little too deceiving of him.

Suddenly none other than Boyd bursts out of the car from the side that’s not facing Stiles. He’s bare chested and his face is a mask of fear.

 

-“Stiles, help me! She’ having a seizure!”

 

He shouts to the Jeep as he rounds the Camaro.

 

-“ Erica!”

 

Stiles shouts back, any other thought forgotten in an instant.

He flings himself out of the jeep and runs to his friends. Boyd is already sliding Erica’s convulsing body out of the backseats.

 

-“Lay her on the ground, put this under her head!”

 

Stiles directs, shrugging his hoodie off and handing it to Boyd.

Erica is naked, her limbs contracting involuntarily and her eyes rolled in the back of her head. Stiles thinks fast, his mind cool and composed again, and positions her on the side, trying his best to block an arm and a leg to the ground. Boyd is in front of him on the other side of Erica and he’s holding an arm too.

 

-“Crook four fingers and stick them in her mouth.”

 

Stiles orders. Boyd looks at him bewildered.

 

–“If she bites her tongue off, she might swallow it and suffocate on it, it’s not the best thing but do as I tell you.” He shouts.

 

Boyd doesn’t hesitate this time. He crooks four fingers and shoves them in Erica's mouth, effectively blocking the jaw from moving and holding the tongue down. He grunts when Erica’s human teeth start to make a dent in his skin but otherwise stay Silent. Well, it’s Boyd so…

Fourteen seconds go by before the convulsions wither and come to an end. Erica is unconscious.

 

-“She’s not breathing.”

 

Comes Boyd startled realization. Fear coils in Stiles bones. He calls on his magic, feels the prickling in his eyes that means they are turning gold, and wills the life energy in Erica’s body to show itself to him.

It’s like an x-ray, really, only it doesn’t show bones or tissues but the balance between the life energy, and its absence, in the various components of Erica’s body. It’s a hard thing to teach, or learn, and Stiles has spent months training to be able to do this much, that is not much at all if he can’t understand why Erica’s lungs aren’t working properly!

Boyd starts calling Erica’s name, shouting even. It’s a statement to how much he’s worried. Stiles ignores him in favor of focusing on the sensations his magic is providing. The wrongness in Erica’s lungs has a squashing, wobbling sensation to it, he thinks he can see it as a blue stain out of the other colors. He aims his magic on that spot and pushes with all his will.

 

 ** _*Disperse!*_   **He thinks.

 

Slowly but surely, the blue disperses in the other colors, mixes and shades until there’s a lonely purple spot left in a corner. Erica takes a sudden deep breath, followed by little heaves. Her eyes focus on Boyd for a second, the corner of her mouth quirking up, just to pass out once again in the next instant.

 

-“She’s breathing.”

 

Boyd says, a sad smile of his own on his lips. Stiles lets go of his magic, relieved but worn out.

 

-“Come on, help me dress her and take her in the car.”

 

He pats Boyd on the shoulder and walks to the Camaro. The smell of sex is pretty obvious even to his human senses.

 

-“I can’t believe Derek lets you take the Camaro for dates and…” Sex is left unspoken.

 

He quickly gathers all of Erica’s clothes and Boyd’s shirt.

 

-“He doesn’t know.”

 

Boyd confesses, sharing a wide eyed look with Stiles. No point in asking who’s genius idea this has been.

 

-“Aw shit. I’m gonna have to save you from a rightly furious, murderous, werewolf, ain’t I?”

 

Boyd shrugs a bit while Stiles slumps on his knees again.

 

-“Please?”

 

Coming from Boyd's taciturn lips, the tentative plead is as good as a beg. Stiles rolls his eyes to the sky.

 

-“Fine! But if I die trying, you owe my Dad half of the funeral expenses!”

 

He’s not even kidding, he hopes Boyd can hear his heart is steady. The werewolf nods.

 

-“All right, we better take my jeep. You think about the pants, I’ll get her in my, hoodie. It’ll be easier then wrestling her in her shirt.”

 

Boyd complies efficiently, only stopping his actions when he catches sight of the cratches on Erica’s hip where it has scraped on the asphalt.

 

-“Why isn’t she healing? How come the Epilepsy came back at all?”

 

Stiles is hesitant to answer those questions, but Boyd’s scared eyes brake his doubts. Beside, If you can trust someone to be discreet, that’s certainly Boyd.

 

-“We don’t know for sure, but she’s not the only one experiencing a dysfunction in supernatural powers. Werewolves seem to have regained their human fragilities in the last week.”

 

Boyd looks at the fingers his girlfriend had bitten unintentionally. They’re bloody, but otherwise healed, skin unscratched. They share a look and Stiles shrugs.

 

-“It’s a recent discovery, we still need to search things through.”

Once Erica is decent again and Boyd isn’t shirtless anymore, (though, let’s face it, by now Stiles has seen all the members of the Pack in different states of nakedness, and doesn’t feel that effected anymore. Mostly.) they get in the jeep and drive off. Stiles keeps darting glances at his friends in the back, worried.

 

-“Where are we going?” Comes Boyd’s quite question.

It has that trusting edge in his tone that doesn’t miss to melt Stiles’ heart every time. He would do anything to protect his friends, his loved ones. The Pack knows, and trusts him blindly in exchange, consults him to make the best decisions for them side by side with their Alpha.

Stiles will be caught dead before he betrays that trust.

 

-“Human illness, human healer, or in our case, nurse.” He declares.

 

Boyd nods.

 

-“You know you're the one who will have to take the Camaro back right? I’m not leaving the hospital until Erica is there.”

 

He adds as an afterthought, no space for discussion.

 

Stiles has already figured that out, it’s the better chance to avoid them a painful death anyhow, but still…he groans, and resists the urge to smash his head on the steering wheel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sonyeon yua = childish kid -korean  
> Mysliwiec = fighter -polish  
> Bhanrigh = queen -gaelic scottish  
> Tugh mI' = Women of number -klingon  
> (All with google translate)
> 
> " O serpent heart hid in a flowering face!"  
> —Romeo and Juliet, Shakespear.


	3. These violoents delights have violents ends...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! I'm sorry for being late, the chapter was ready, but the internet connection decided to go on holiday. I'm in the middle of the mountains, so it's likely to happen again.   
> You might notice I'm using shakespearean quotes for most of the titles, and there's going to be some in the text too. It has a sense, but you will have to wait a little more to grasp it. I'm inserting the details of every quote in the end notes. Also, I went back on the first chapters and changed something here and edited something there. It's nothing major, so you don't need to read it again, I'm only reorganizing things a little in my spare time.

The visit to the hospital is a quick, familiar experience. They’ve done this far too many times. Melissa doesn’t so much as flinch when she sees them. Sure, Stiles has texted her on the way there with the basic information, but he expected some…reaction. Worry, anger, curiosity, disbelief, frustration maybe. None of the above.Melissa just herds them in the back room, very professionally checking Erica over and asking the occasional question to make a diagnosis. Stiles realizes this has become a sad routine for all of them. The way he and Boyd find the things Melissa asks for without direction makes it all the more evident.

When she deems Erica safe and stable, a sweet caress on her pale cheek, she gives just as sweet a smile to Boyd and ushers Stiles out of the room. Erica is likely to be ok, just needs to rest until she wakes up, and some, spending the day under observation in Melissa’s care. They need to wait to gain (unauthorized) acxess to a (real) x-ray to the lung too so, with that figured out, Stiles is given a tight hug, Melissa whispering in his ear;

 

–“They need you. Don’t leave them hanging.”

 

Then he’s pushed not so gently to the exit.

 

Needless to say, Stiles is left bewildered by Melissas’s behavior, but he also has no time to think about it just yet. He is currently jogging in the school’s hallway, late by 45 minutes to his first period class. He’s wondering how much of a drama it might be if he just slipped in the infirmary and spent the next hour taking a nap, when he remembers first and second hour are Harris’ classes.

 

–“The fucking test!”

 

He full out runs to his class, nearly tackling a boy behind a corner – a transfer student? He’s pretty sure he would remember that hot smirk if he had seen it before- mumbling an apology while he covers the last streatch of hallway and drops ungracefully through the door.

 

-“Stilinski. I thought you would have spared us your clumsy persona this morning.”

 

Harris’ muses evily. Stiles is sprawled on the floor, out of breath, waving his hand in the air to try and make a non-verbal excuse.

 

-“Whatever, I don’t want to know.”

 

Harris deadpens.

 

–“ Here’s the test. Class ends in forty minutes, you wont have a single minute more than that.”

 

Stiles takes the handed test sheat and flings himself on the empty desk nearest to Scott. His friend looks about to burst out with anxiety and curiosity but Stiles shakes is head and mouths LATER.

 

-“You’ll be quiet in my class, Stilinski, or I’m throwing you out this instant.”

 

Harris reproaches.

Stiles is tempted to yell.

 *

He ends up finishing his test with time to spare, as Scott does. They’ve been going through this year’s program during summer, together with the rest of the pack, everyone helping where they wore most talented. Sure, that meant he and Lydia covered most of the subjects, but it didn’t feel such a hardship when it helped the Betas not staying behind, and keeping their grades up (even when they didn’t study much, were home recovering, or still in the hospital for the latest shenanigan. ) Scott is shocked by the news of Erica’s seizure, and he can’t stop laughing when Stiles asks him to drive the Jeep to the Hale mansion so he can bring the Camaro back to Derek. The dick.

 

-“Laugh your ass off now, you traitor, you won’t be so happy when Derek kills me because two of your betas sexed his car up!”

 

He chastises, pouting. Scott only laughs more.

 

-“Oh, yeah, fine! I’m not giving you your copied homework! Nu-hu!”

 

That sobers Scott a little .

 

-“Come on man, don’t be mean! I promise I won’t let him kill you.”

 

Scott promises, bumping Stiles shoulder with his. Stiles relents and passes the homework.

 

-“Don’t disturb yourself, I can deal with Sourwolf.”

 

Scott bursts out laughing again.

 

-“The look on his face is going to be precious!”

 

He says between snorts.

 

-“You know, the vandals in this story are your Betas, so technically, it’s your fault for letting them misbehave like that. It’s werewolf pack dynamics 101, Alpha, and Derek knows all about it.”

 

Stiles informs him. As the Mc-Hale training Emissary, he might enjoy seeing his Alpha’s struggling frown a little too much.

 

*

 

The hours go by smoothly, the day approaching to an end now that only lacrosse practice is left.

Stiles is geared up and suffering through the forty-third lap around the field with his eyes closed. Apparently Finstock had had a rough night, (something to do with queens and donkeys’ charm, at which mention, no ulterior questions were asked) and needed peace to tame a majestic hangover. That meant 60 silent laps of the field’s perimeter, on his accord. It’s ok! Stiles has almost mastered the art of sleep-running.

 

-“How come I’m soaked wet, and you’re barely breaking a sweat?”

 

Jimmy, a first year goalie, asks panting. Stiles snorts.

 

-“Because my closest friends are athletic jerks that have fun torturing me with extra training every other week.”

 

-“Yet here you are falling back in the line, dude, we’re intensifying your training next week!”

 

Scott yells while passing them for like, the fifth time in the last hour. Show off.

 

-“ I liked you better with asthma!”

 

Stiles yells back. Jimmy snickers beside him.

Suddenly the snickers stop and Stiles has a handful of first year in his harms.

 

-“Stay on the left if you can’t keep-up, idiot, I’m running here.”

 

Jackson spits out, he too running past them.

 

-“Delight yourself being a bully today Danny can’t see you, Jack-ass.!”

 

Stiles jabs, furious. Jimmy shakes his head minutely, once Stiles manages to get him on his feet again.

 

-“It’s nothing Stiles, don’t bother.”

 

-“It’s the third time he does it Jimmy, that’s a bit more then fucking nothing!”

 

He reasons, bewildered.

 

-“And what do you want to do about it, Stilinski? Gonna tell your dad to give me a ticket?”

 

Jackson calls back, approaching them like a reptile scurrying for it pray. No, Stiles will never give up on the kanima related jokes, ok?

 

-“ It’s always about involving parent with you. Why Jackson, you think you can’t fight me on your own?”

 

He taunts. Jackson rolls his eyes.

 

-“Oh, come on Stilinski, I know you’re stupid, but you can’t really think you can stand a chance against me.”

 

He walks right into Stiles face, challenging him with his intimidating stance

 

–“It’s not realistic.”

 

He finishes.

Stiles feels Scott’s presence a little to his right side, he’s magic alert to his Alpha. His friend is worried, his protective instincts boiling, but Stiles holds a hand up and Scott stills.

Jackson has provoked him one too many times. Whatever it takes, magic or cheating, Stiles will teach him a lesson.

 

-“Try me out.”

 

He whispers dangerously, accepting the challenge.

 

Stiles sees the punch coming, and that in its self makes him realize he wont need magic to win this fight. A step back gains him some space, allows easier movements. When Jackson’s punch is a breath away, he tips his head to the side just a fraction. The punch goes flying past him, Stiles mentally cheering for not flinching in the least. His right hand shoots up and grabs Jackson’s wrist before the jock can lose balance or go for a second hit. The shock is plain on his face, and Stiles waits a second to let the truth of the situation sink in better. Fine! It’s also for dramatic flair. But, come on! What’s a fanfiction without some theatric sparkle to it!? Jackson’s eyes widen and Stiles smirks. With explosive strength, he pulls onto Jackson’s wrist and forces him to fall forward. Using his shoulder like a lever, Stiles topples the idiot over his back and lets him slam on the ground. He swivels, conscious of the low growl behind him, and totally expects it when Jackson’s wolf reflexes (what's left of them) let him flip back up on his feet instantly. Stiles is ready. Before Jackson’s feet have a chance to find balance, Stiles’ left fist is smashing his pretty model face.

 

-“Ow!”

 

Stiles whines, shaking his hand in the air to fight the pain in his knuckles. Jackson lays on the ground at his feet, the rest of the team gathered around them and, - oh look, it's the hot boy that he nearly takled in the morning. A lacrosse fan, great!

 

-“He’s the one with a bloody nose, and you’re the one complaining?”

 

Scott marvels. He has a mixture of surprise and pride in his features. He’s also not the only one gaping at the scene. Stile glances at Jackson, currently holding his crooked and bloody nose in his hand.

 

-“Shit. I need to apologize to Danny as soon as I see him.”

 

Danny is a good guy, he has no fault for being in love with a douche bag. Stiles will let him know he’ sorry-not sorry for this event.

Out of the circle of players Coach Finstock lamely makes his appearance.

 

-“Guys, what the hell? Whitmore go get fixed, you’re getting blood on the equipment. Being a bully didn’t pay off today, did it? You lot, disperse and go back running your 70 laps …”

 

He starts ordering around, tone low and with a hand pressed on his temple. There’s no way to know if he’s looking at any of them behind his big sunglasses. Someone far off in the camp is remonstrating against the lap increase and gets promptly ignored.

 

-“ Bilinski!”

 

Coach bellows, stopping Stiles' haste escape.

 

–“Next time you want to punch Jackson in the face make sure you’re in my visual, for fucking sake! Oh, and you’re suspended from this and the next two lacrosse practices, this month’s game included.”

 

He informs calmly, ending the discussion with a slap on Stiles’ back. Stiles has no time to mourn the punishment, he’s being dragged to the other edge of the field by a fierce grasp on his arm. It's Scott.

 

-“ Do you think tthere's a chance you gave him some PTSD?”

 

Jimmy wonders from where he’s jogging at his side. Stiles eyes Jackson figure, walking with a lost (and still bloody) expression in the lockers room.

 

-“If we’re lucky…” he mumbles.

 

Jimmy takes off to resume his laps, chuckling heartedly.

Scott stops jut out of the field, but doesn’t let go of his arm. Stiles is worried, maybe a little scared. Facing a werewolf head on isn’t the smartest thing one can do, both for himself and for the innocent bystanders that could get involved if the wolf loses control. Sure, he knew Jackson had some magic impotence problem because Lydia told him, but even if it wasn’t the case Stiles would have faced him all the same. It was in his natural impulsive behavior. Scott knew that too. If he decided to punish Stiles for it, he was right to do it.

 

-“Sorry, Alpha, I shouldn’t have attacked a werewolf in your land without permission.”

 

Stiles quickly apologizes, stepping into his Emissary mode before Scott can speak. His fears are short lived though, because Scott is pulling him in from the arm he hasn’t let go of, into a quick hug.

 

-“Quit calling me Alpha man, that was priceless! Epic and priceless. You can beat him every other day if you ask me. Beside, he’s not part of the Pack, he’s an affiliated werewolf caught searching for troubles with an official member of the pack, I could even demand compensation for his actions, maybe make him leave our land or something. It’s in werewolf dynamic 101, remember?”

 

Stiles is…stunned…just, stunned really.

 

-“Does it mean you’re studying my notes now?”

 

He asks, misty-eyed. Scott has this expression on his face that tell him he’s being silly again, but it’s complete of a sweet smile so Stiles is really not in trouble. They simultaneously go for a second, quick hug.

 

-“I’ll come and get you to Derek’s when I’m done here.”

 

Scott assures.

 

-“Ok. Oh, you should give Isaac a lift since Derek can’t come and take him.”

 

Stiles yells over his shoulder, already half way to the lockers room. Scott stumbles (on nothing) and falls miserably to the ground, lifting a thumb up to signal the message has been received. Or maybe that he’s still alive. He’s pretty much buried under lacrosse equipment.

 

-“Where’s all your grace gone without werewolf powers, hu?” Stiles whispers to himself, knowing his friend would hear.

He reaches his locker only to find his bag on the bench. There’s a tear on the side, and when he takes his clothes out there is no inch of them left un-clawed. Mercy wasn’t granted to his boxers and socks either.

That’s it! He’s going to experiment on Jackson that spell he promised Deaton to never meddle with. It will happen as soon as the monster of the week is taken care of, to hell with the conseguences.

 

-“Eye of newt, and toe of frog…”

 

Stiles grumbles under his breath while he secures the jeep’s key in Scott’s locker (Yes he has the code. For the matter, he has everyone’s codes, passwords, or spare keys.) and takes out the keys to the Camaro (that Boyd had left in the front passenger seat before leaving the Jeep. Sneaky bastard.).

 

-“Wool of bat, and tongue of dog…”

 

Grumbling on, he makes his way to the parking lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever comments, advices and correction are welcomed!  
> I found a lovely Beta, but we are 7 hours apart (as in, from two different sides of the world.) so the comunications and correction have a little jet lag. XD  
> Also, I keep forgetting but I have a [ tumblr ](https://www.mehehilill.tumblr.com) and I enjoy chatting for whatever reason, so wether it's culture, sillyness, tv, depression, hapyness or life, univers and everything els, just feel free to write me. :)
> 
> Title is , again, from "Romeo and Juliet", by Shakespear. I swear it's a coincidence I keep on choosing qoutes from this play in particular.
> 
> The spell Stiles is grumbling in the end is "Song of the witches", Shakespear, and I'm coping it down for you here because I find it marvelous! 
> 
> Double, double toil and trouble;  
> Fire burn and caldron bubble.  
> Fillet of a fenny snake,  
> In the caldron boil and bake;  
> Eye of newt and toe of frog,  
> Wool of bat and tongue of dog,  
> Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,  
> Lizard's leg and howlet's wing,  
> For a charm of powerful trouble,  
> Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
> 
> Double, double toil and trouble;  
> Fire burn and caldron bubble.  
> Cool it with a baboon's blood,  
> Then the charm is firm and good.


	4. "Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm soo sorry friends, I hadn't planned for this delay but I had some very busy days. *read: assaulted 24/7 by hyperactive kids* 
> 
> I'm afraid this means all the next chapters will be delayed too! *dodges rotten tomatoes* Don't hate me too much, I'm trying my best! 
> 
> Hope you're doing all right!

It’s never easy to leave his dear Roscoe behind, but he’s not about to complain for the chance to ride that babe of a muscle car Derek owns. He’s still grumbling when he gets to the Camaro, keys jingling in his free hand.

 

 -“You’re an interesting one Stilinski.”

 

 A voice quips in the general silence of the parking lot. Stiles, needless to say, flails dramatically, dropping keys and bags on the floor. When he swirls around to face his assaulter, he lets out a not too manly shriek. There’s the hot boy from the lacrosse field eyeing him, with his hot smirk jovially displayed.

 

-“Oh God, don’t do that ever again. What if I reacted differently, had some weapon with me?"

 

Stiles chastises. The boy discardes Stiles worries with a shrug.

 

-“What? You would have beaten _me_ with a bat? I don’t thinks so.” 

 

He says with, now that Stiles notices it, a very scottish accent.  

 

-“You’d be surprised.”  Stiles grumbles

 

-“Sorry, I mean no harm, I saw you before and you left me impressed…you’re stronger than you look, but I wonder just how much…” The boy shrugs again. –“ I thought the best way to quell my curiosity was to come look for myself, you know; ' _Friendly counsel cut's off many foes_ '.“ He explains.

 

Stiles absorbs the words dumbly. Is the boy flirting? Because that’s not something that happens to Stiles very often (outside Jungle at least), but he’s totally on board with it. He assets the boy better, first of all noticing the boy himself is giving him a slow once over and an appreciative hum. Stiles can’t help but smirk in return. The boy is a little shorter then him, high cheekbones, black jet hair and a shit eating grin the chesire cat would be proud of.

Stiles flirts back. _Why not?_

-“Once you know me you’ll realize I’m not only strong, but talented and very entertaining.”  He winks smartly to the boy. The latter laughs heartedly and takes a step closer.

 

-“Maybe we can get to know each other better then, so you can teach me your skills while I can teach you mine.” He proposes suggestive. Stiles nods.

 

-“Sounds like a plan. I’ll give you my phone number” He offers.

 

The boy swiftly passes him a blackberry. Their hands touch when Stiles gives it back causing a little jolt of electricity.

 

-“Ow.”

 

Stiles takes his hand back, and brings it to his mouth, chewing on the reddening burn forming there.

 

-“Sorry, I’m just ecSTATIC to have your number.” The boy jokes, shaking his equally injured hand.

 

Stiles huffs. There’s nothing better then a pun from a hot guy to make the day.

 

*

 

Stiles is driving lazily towards the Hale mansion, currently Pack House. He has entertained the idea of experimenting the engine’s prowess extent, driving wildly across Beacon Hills, but both the prospect of a grumpy wolf bitching out for ruined tires and fines, and more importantly his tiredness catching up to him, stops his foot from going any lower. Nope. Respecting speed limits here.

He get’s zero appreciation for his troubles though. He parks in front of the Hale Mansion and no sooner he’s out of the car, he’s smashed back on it. By the built of it, it’s a truck. However the growling and flashing eyes in his face, as well as the very defined biceps Stiles is clutching desperately, tell him otherwise.

 

-“It’s good to see you too Sourwolf_” He starts, jus to be rudely interrupted.

 

-“Stiles!”

 

-“_how’s life going along?” He finishes, not about to be shut up so easily.

 

-“Stiles, why the hell can I smell sex wafting out of my stolen car?”

 

Derek asks, shaking him for emphasis. Stile is happy he has his lacrosse shirt still on, the tugging Derek is doing on it would have ruined one of his normal precious shirt.

 

-“Stolen is a harsh word, my friend.”

 

He ventures. Derek eye flash of a brighter blue, possibly. Rude. How does anyone even steal a car from under the nose of a werewolf? He will have to ask Erica.

 

-“How else would you call it when you come back home after a weekend trip and your car is nowhere to be seen anymore!?”

 

Oh, that’s how.

Stiles get’s distracted by the adorable lisp Derek has for talking around his extended fang. It says something about his life that _that_ is the only thought he can think about while having a very dangerous, angry werewolf near his throat. Another shake of his poor human body takes his mind back on track. Mostly. There are very nice lips embracing those fangs. No! Stiles forces himself to make eye contact and_ Shit, those are Derek’s deathly-dangerous eyebrows, reserved for very bad situation that usually include blood and violence.   

 

-“I didn’t steal nothing you silly.”

 

Stiles tries to explain, bringing up the Camaro’s keys. And that’s not an easy task when you’re smashed between a car and _ oh come on, that’s just not fair, why is Derek bare chested now? haarg_ a very built up werewolf.  

 

-“You duplicated them? And you think if you’re using _keys_ to go fuck in someone-else’s car that makes it legit?”

 

Derek yells/growls, outraged.

 

-“No! I made no duplicate_ Well yes, I did_but this are not mine!”

 

 Stiles hastens to explain himself better, admittedly not doing a good job of it. Damn, he’s just so tired right now, and words tend to fail him when his mind is too much in a buzz. Thinking about it…did Stiles even take his Adderall that morning? More growling and the umpteenth ‘shake&smash’ on the car grates on the lonely survivor of Stiles’ nerves. That is, leaving the pain aside, Stiles is really fed up ’cause, really, how many bullies can one tolerate in a day? The answer is; _NONE_. Stiles steels himself and tips into his powers…

 

*

 

Derek watches Stiles’ features harden. He didn’t mean to be so harsh, but there’s just something about Stiles that irks him on a daily basis. So it figures he’s barely holding on his control with Stiles baldly showing up in his stolen Camaro. After having sex in it. With someone-else! No, wait, scratch the last thought. A tingly sensation starts to run on his skin, first up his arms and then down his chest. Derek registers the threat  too late, he’s suddenly wrenched from his grip on Stiles, and get’s thrown heavily to the ground. As soon as he touches the ground though he flexes his muscle to flip back up, and is astonished to see the same force that made him flay is pinning him down .

 

-“If you take the time to use that werewolf nose of yours, instead of going all growling death beast on me, you will realize the cents in the car _don’t belong to me_!”

 

Stiles spits out angrily. Derek isn’t paying enough attention to understand his words initially, too caught up in his astonishment.

 

-“Then who else ’d be so shameless to pull a stunt like that?” He challenges surly.  

Stiles appears in his view, hovering over him from the side. Derek tries to move out of habit, intending to put more space between them, but the force doesn’t budge and he stays trapped with his back to the ground and Stiles face too near for comfort. Derek swallows, and fights the flush climbing on his neck.

 

-“Oh come on Big Guy, you know the answer to that; you just need to calm down and think clearly.”

 

Stiles says more relaxed.

His words are like a balm on Derek’s temper. The shift subsides, the fog of anger clearing from his brain. With a sharp inhale he concentrates on the cents coming from the Camaro.

 

-“Erica!” He shouts.

 

-“Bingo.” Stiles mutters –“ But don’t go on a hunt just yet, I have news to report.” 

 

He adds, going for the entrance door with lazy strides.

 

 -“Where are you going?”

 

Derek asks, bending his neck to follow him with his eyes.

 

-“I need a shower.” Stiles deadpans. –“And that douchbag you turned into a fury reptile, thought well to shred my clothes, so I’m borrowing some of yours. Not that you have a great use of them anyhow, right?”  He mocks, glancing pointedly to Derek’s bare chest and mostly bare legs.  

 

-“I was running”

 

Derek grouses in defense, though really, being exposed was never a problem of his until recently. Now with Stiles' eyes on him, thought briefly, he’s caught between blushing and fidjeting. He does none of the two, and yells annoyed to Stiles retreating back.   

 

–“The door is closed!”

 

Stiles waves a hand without altering his pace, and Derek hears the door unlock.

 

-“I don’t really need keys anymore, I keep them for precaution.”

 

Stiles informs him absently, not bothering to turn around, barging through the door in the house. Derek frowns at the doorway.

 

-“Wont you let me move now?” 

 

He shouts to the emptiness after a minute.

Stiles stick his head out immediately.

 

–“Say the magic word.”

 

He tempts. Derek glares, eyes glowing.

 

-“Fine. You have no sense ogf humor.”

 

Stiles relents, disappearing into the house again.

The tingling fades from Derek’s skin, the force pinning him down disappearing with it. Derek stays on the floor a couple seconds more, staring at the sky…contemplating his life…cursing himself for being such a softy.

 

*

 

Stiles delivers the latest news, Derek following his animated chatter through the house. He finds him already taking his shower, as the noise had suggested, and Derek sits on the floor, leaning his back to the bathroom’s door. Stiles's using the one in Derek’s quarters of the house instead of the guest one, or even the one on the floor where he has a room for himself. Though Stiles never really took possession of the letter, beside furnishing it with a bed and a table on Lydia’s insistence. Derek tells himself it’s because they always use the conference room to plan&organize, and the big living room to chill&bond, making the room superfluous for all but the eventual sleep in. The truth, is Stiles ends up ranting and researching, training, eating and damn, even napping in Derek’s quarter most of the time. Derek is too emotionally involved to look into it too much, he can admit it, and that is why he never complains or asks why. He just lets it happen, falling in irritating domestic routines with that not-so-lanky-anymore-boy, that drives him crazy half of the time, but slowly started to mend his heart in the other half. It’s no wonder Stiles is Pack-Mom. His protective, caring nature can’t be more _fitting_ for the part, and that’s another aspect troubling Derek. He’s not the alpha anymore, couldn’t be more glad about it, but he still feels like the Betas' caretaker most of the time, an actual father, in Isaac’s case. And Stiles was there, aiding him step by step through Isaac's adoption, sporting the happiest and proudest of smiles while they signed the last papers. Derek feels like having a family again, he _feels_ again, _hopes,_ and he can’t avoid blaming it all on Stiles. Smartass, ridiculous, Stiles. The Pack mom to Derek’s teenager-pups. How can he deal with that?...he doesn’t, that’s how. **Denial** is something they’re both very good at.  

When the door opens behind him, Derek scrambles to his feet with supernatural quickness to avoid falling on his back. Stiles is finally finished, ( has rambled on a tangent thought about bathroom tiles for some time now), and he steps out in a towel.

 

 –“I think I’ve used all the hot water …”

 

He says, rubbing a towel on his head and exposing miles of white, leaned-muscled skin. Derek flashes his eyes.

 

 –“Ha shit, sorry, you were going to get a shower too? Sure you were, you just came back from running. There might still be some, go ahead.”

 

He moves to let Derek in, apologizing again.

Derek takes a shower, following Stiles direction zombie like. The cold water, (because there is in fact, none of the warm one left) brings him a little back to his senses. He scrubs himself fast and hard, busying hi mind with hypothesis for the current power problem in the pack. When he’s out of the shower he realizes he hasn’t brought a change of clothes and walks to the cabinet in his room, towel hung on his hips.

He finds Stiles hidden between the cabinet’s doors, dressed in his close,smelling like his soap, ogling Derek's exposed skin to the point Derek feels it like a physical touch.  Arousal builds in the air.  It’s distracting and enticing, this thing has been building between them for quite a time now, and he _can’t_ quit staring to Stiles’ lips!

 

*

 

Stiles snaps out of it, turns around pretending he’s looking for something in the drawers.

 

-“I’ll just be taking some socks to…”

 

He starts mumbling, but the words die on his tongue. Derek leans over his shoulder, grabbing something for himself from the top shelves, and Stiles suddenly reckons giving his back to Derek in this position is not a smart idea for his selfcontrol. On impulse he turns back around to fix the problem, and finds himself nose to nose with the source of his struggles. Derek’s stare lands on him, whiskey brown to iridescent green, and Stiles shares his breath so there’s no chance to miss the way Derek's throat contracts on a whine.

Like one, slowly, they close the gap. Derek’s lips are soft on Stiles’, their kiss chaste and sweet.

Just as slowly, they drift apart, and share another meaningful glance. Lust where there was longing, fear where there was confusion, and maybe something that was there before and is there now, multiplied tenfold, something Stiles isn’t brave enough to name.

 

-“This is not…”Derek starts, voice unexpectedly soft.

 

-“…a good idea.” Stiles finishes. He briefly wishes he were blind to Derek’s reactions then, because hurt flashes on his feature like a blade.

 

-“What about Scott?”  Derek says, posing his evidence as a question.

 

-“What about being the uninvolved Emissary?” Stiles counters, revealing his doubts.

 

-“What about your father?” Derek adds to the list, head shaking a little.

 

-“What about the pack?” Stiles continues, pursing his lips.

 

-“What about the difference age?” Derek asks, and somehow Stiles knows this one was the most difficult to get out  –“ ...you’re still underage.”

 

 Derek explains, apologies maybe. Stiles nods solemnly, wants to let Derek know he understands the reluctance, knows where it comes from. He maybe one of the few to know. Might be the only one still wishing revenge for it.

In the back of his mind there's a little voice screaming -"To hell with underage, I'll be 18 in nine month, who the fuck cares!" But Stiles sweeps it away for the unnecessary thought it is. He'll never do something that makes Derek uncomfortable, even if the reasoning behind it looks stupid, and this is certainly not the case.

They stay like that for a few instants, their eyes apparently locked to the other in silent yarning, a quiet debate of wills that match. It’s a battle with themselves.

The next thing they do, they do it as losers of the battle.

Derek’s hands cradle Stiles’ head, as their lips clash and fight in a hackle rising choreography. Stiles’ arms wind around Derek’s neck, and that’s the only thing preventing him from falling when they start to move backwards to the cabinet. Stiles jumps up whit more grace then he usually possesses, and Derek doesn’t falter a second, on his same line of thoughts, grabbing Stiles’ tights and holding him up while they smash back into the shelves. Stiles intertwines his legs over Derek’s waist, arches his back to gain perfect balance between his butt partially propped on the drawers, and Derek firm front pressing on him. Now that Derek’s hands don’t need to hold him up anymore they come up to caress Stiles' sides under the shirt, leaving burning trails in their wake. Stiles' fingers catch in Derek’s hair in retaliation, their breath mingling to the point Stiles might be out of air, but he can’t care less with Derek just as ruined under his ministration.

With their bodies pressed up like this, and because of the little maddening humps Stiles is sure Derek can’t control just as _he_ can’t control _his_ , there is no way to miss the hardening length under Derek’s towel. Not that his own erection isn’t just as responding, but there’re just too many layers between them and suddenly Stiles is overwhelmed by this urge to touch!

His hand disentangles from Derek’s messed up hair. He lets it glide down to Derek’s tights, slipping under the towel to caress the hard muscles on the inside of those perfect parted legs and up, up in a caring, lascivious massage to Derek’s balls. Derek rewards him with a groan, attacking Stiles mouth with renovated vigor, sucking on his tongue and biting on his lips, nipping his way to Stiles’ neck where he sucks, bites, kisses, licks and moans promises of wonderful, disgraceful things to come. And that is without uttering a single word. Stiles is ok with that, okay with everything as long as it involves Derek, and he hopes he conveys the idea well enough by rubbing his clothed erection to Derek’s one.

They moan in unison. It’s like a dam coming loose, and now they’re moving more frantically, Derek clawing Stiles out of the shirt ( A fantasy coming true, fuck it!) and assaulting his nipples while Stiles gets rid of Derek’s offending towel and flings it somewhere in the unknown. If he gets it his way, Derek is never dressing up again. Derek licks the sensitive nubs and Stiles arches into it.

 

-“Derek, ha! Please Derek. I need you, I need more…”

 

He starts mumbling, pleading without shame. It’s the first time words like this escape his mouth during sexy times, but they come naturally with Derek, the urgency of something they have denied themselves for so long clear in his voice.  

 

-“Anything and everything.”

 

Derek pledges, in a low ruble right to his ear.

Stiles shuts his eyes. His magic flared to life the moment their lips first touched, just as eager to consume and debouche Derek’s magic counterpart, and at Derek’s words Stiles almost lets it. He keeps it at bay with effort, but then there’s soft lips kissing his sternum, making him jolt. He looks down to find Derek looking back at him through his lashes, posing another kiss a little above Stiles navel, hands hitching to the side of Stiles sweatpants_ That is, obviously, the moment his phone starts ringing.

 

-“ Woop-woop! It's the sound of da police!”

 

The Sheriff’s ringtone echoes in the bedroom. Stiles and Derek stare at each-other, frozen.

 

-“Ignore it.”

 

They say in chorus, and Dereks resumes his trail down Stiles front, while Stiles finds purchase on thick muscled shoulders. Cue, the phone ringing, this time Derek’s.  

Derek groans loudly, nothing to do with pleasure, and presses his face to Stiles’ stomach. Stiles bumps his head back against the shelves.

They stay like that for a good minute, letting the cacophony of the ringtones surround them.

 

-“It’s my father.” Stiles states, flatly.

 

-“I know.” Derek answers, turning his face to the side.

 

-“And when he insists like that it’s usually because…” Stiles continues, trailing off in the end. They both know it’s bad news.

 

-“Jordan gives me a heads—up phone call every time ….” Derek confirms, his stubble grazing Stiles’ skin lightly.

 

-“Yup.” Stiles says, stroking Derek’s hair absentmindedly  

 

The ringtones stop for ten seconds, leaving an eerie silence…and then resume.

 

-“When did you even take your phone in?” Derek protests softly.

 

-“ I had it tucked in my lacrosse shorts. Since when is your phone not silenced?" Stiles counters without heat in his words.

 

-“ I was waiting for a business call” Derek apologizes.

 

 The second calls end and the thirds start up seconds later.  

 

They sigh, reluctantly letting go of each other to answer their phones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Friendly counsel cuts off many foes."  
> William Shakespeare (1874). “The Shakespeare Argosy: Containing Much of the Wealth of Shakespeare's Wisdom and Wit”, p.38
> 
> "Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly""  
> As You Like It, Shakespear.
> 
> So how do you like it so far?


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